


The G-Men Come to Call

by AetherAria



Series: Fate Picks Its Favorites [2]
Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I don't know how to tag this lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: Spring comes with a threat, the first year Diana is a mother.





	The G-Men Come to Call

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment in perspective. Takes place a few months after the children land at Scott manor.

There are strangers in the Scott foyer.

There’s a pale man with colorless, mouse-brown hair, and another with olive skin and slicked back black hair, both standing like flagpoles, both in identical grey suits, wearing identical black sunglasses and identical shiny black shoes, and one is holding up a badge with the name of an organization that most citizens have no reason to be aware of. The lady of the house smiles, gives low instructions to some form of help, and gestures grandly to lead the pair through to her parlor. Their expressions don’t change very much, but the paler man clenches his jaw, and there’s something stiff about the way the black haired man holds his arms at his sides. Perhaps they were expecting more fear.

Her cook has already sent a tray of tea and some small sandwiches ahead; they are already laid out on the coffee table when the three of them come in. The lady takes her armchair, tall and suede with an arched back, leaving the loveseat across from her for the gentlemen. They collectively stiffen even further as they sit, clearly too close together for comfort.

Diana smiles, and pours the tea.

“Mrs Scott-”

“Lady Scott, if you don’t particularly mind,” she trills, smiling apologetically.

The gentleman pauses, and the other takes over. “We believe you have come into possession of government property.”

Her expression takes on a vague air of bemusement. “However would that have happened? Cream or sugar?”

“You-”

“We’re not here for-”

The pair exchange glances, visibly irritated with each other, and before they can correct the clashing words she gasps lightly.

“Where _are_ my manners,” she says. “Obviously you know who I am,” there’s a pause, an implication, “but I neglected to ask for your names, gentlemen, and I didn’t manage to catch them from your badges. How shall I address you?”

There’s a fraction-of-a-second pause before the dark haired man says, “Mr Bright, ma’am.”

“Mr Brown,” the other says, with quick annoyance _._

She holds the bowl of sugar cubes in one hand and the tongs in the other. “A pleasure, I’m sure. One lump or two, Mr Bright? Mr Brown?”

“We aren’t here for _tea_ , M- Lady Scott,” Brown says, and he sounds more sulky than stern.

“That’s a shame,” she says, dropping a sugar cube into her own teacup and then setting the bowl aside. “How else may I be of service? And - forgive me - what organization are you gentlemen representing, again?”

“We’ve come to collect government property that was wrongfully seized at this address,” Bright says as Diana carefully twists a lemon and drops it into her tea.

She laughs. “I can’t think how anything like that could possibly be waylaid here. And I certainly wouldn’t have any desire to keep some - forgive me again - olive drab nonsense around my residence. What is this property supposed to be? Is there any more information you can give me?” she asks with a tilt of the head.

Brown opens his mouth, and there is calculation in his eyes before he says, “Test pods, for a classified propulsion experiment. We can’t tell you much more,” he continues. “Just that there were two of them.”

“And- you think these- pods, you said? You think they came here somehow?” She takes a sip, long enough that they could answer her, but they don’t. “When did you lose them? Where did you see them last?”

Her smile is warm, but both men frown and shift irritably.

“Late December,” says Bright.

“At New Years?” she clarifies, and Brown shakes his head.

“Christmas.”

Lady Scott glances to the window, to the obvious, glaring spring outside, where the flower beds in the garden are coming into their glory. “That seems just a bit- irresponsible, don’t you think? Why has it taken you so long to come looking, if these objects are so valuable to you?”

Bright appears chastised, or at least embarrassed, by the admonishment, but Brown’s pale face goes apoplectically red. “We know you have them. Tell us where you’re hiding them and we won’t have to throw you in a hole until you tell us which vault your husband is hiding them behind.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lady Scott says with a mild raise of the eyebrow. “That sounded exactly like a threat, wouldn’t you agree Mister Gilroy?”

“I believe it would hold up in court, ma’am.”

That last from a man standing in the doorway of the room with dark skin and black hair greying at the temples. Both the agents had been unaware of him until this exact moment, but now it is abundantly clear that his presence is not a new development.

Brown stands, jolting the coffee table as his knees lock straight. Lady Scott is already holding the tea tray steady with one hand, keeping it from spilling, but her face is as serene as it has been this entire visit.

“Gentlemen,” she says, “allow me to introduce my lawyer. Mr Payton Gilroy.” She gestures with her free hand, keeping the fingers of the other delicately on the edge of the silver tray. “Mr Gilroy, these gentlemen are Mr Bright and Mr Brown. They work for,” she pauses, “the government.”

“A pleasure,” Mr Gilroy says, smiling very slightly.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Mrs Scott.”

“ _Lady_ Scott,” Victor says cheerfully, coming in behind Mr Gilroy. He smiles, comes to stand near Lady Scott’s chair with his hand resting on it, and doesn’t say another word.

Bright stands, more carefully than his counterpart. “It appears that we’ve overstayed our welcome,” he says in a tight but impressively still polite voice. “If you happen to remember anything about the missing property-” he pulls a card from his breast pocket and sets it down, hesitating and setting it beside the tea tray instead of on top of it. “Please give me a call. Thank you for your time.” Brown is ready to do something dangerous, if the look on his face is anything to go by, but Bright meets his eyes and shakes his head a fraction, barely enough to be noticed. Brown’s jaw tightens further, fit to crack his teeth if he’s not careful, but he turns and manages just barely to march out of the room instead of merely sulking away. Bright glances after his counterpart, then gives Victor a serious look. “My private line is written in. Just in case.”

Bright leaves the room. The pair of agents exit the manor, and drive away.

  


Lady Scott turns to Sabitri, who is standing in the doorway with her hand gripping the door frame, once their home is again safe from aggressive interlopers. “The children?” she asks sharply.

“Perfectly fine.” Sabitri smiles grimly. “Unaware and unconcerned. Syx is finger-painting on the fishtank again and Wayne was just waking up, so I should get back and keep an eye on them.”

Diana inhales, exhales. “Yes. Very good.” She nods, and Sabitri retreats back to the children as Diana aims her gaze toward her husband. “Victor.” Diana says, voice entirely without inflection.

“I know,” he says.

“Your help was not required,” she says. “Everything is under control.”

He scrubs his hand down his face and says, “Armed government agents in my _home_ , Diana. I think I have a right to be just a tad concerned, wouldn’t you agree?”

Diana’s expression freezes in place. She had noticed the guns the agents carried hidden under their suits, of course, but she hadn’t been expecting Victor to catch on. It makes sense in retrospect; he has enough history with bodyguards and other private security in his life that of course he knows how to recognize a concealed weapon.

“I thought…” he trails off, and then his brow furrows in a sort of determination. “I thought it would be better to present a united front. That’s all.”

Diana pauses, examining her husband with a critical eye. He’s actually meeting her gaze, which is enough of a rare occurrence that she takes special note of it. She hadn’t… the fact of the matter is, Diana expects Victor not to care one whit, provided that Diana’s adopted ‘issue’ doesn’t interfere with his business. Clearly, he cares. Enough, at least, to draw attention to himself to deflect danger from Diana. It’s not something she would ever ask him to do, of course, but it feels like a significant gesture. She nods, gently, and then finally looks to her lawyer.

“Are we safe?” she asks. “I said nothing that could be considered an admission. I was quite careful on that front.”

“As safe as we can be, I should think,” Gilroy says mildly. “It’s difficult to say with government types who prefer false names, but legally speaking we should still be in the green. As far as the law is concerned, Syx and Wayne are your children, and no one is going to buy any nonsense that links two infants to some sort of ‘propulsion test’. Even if that made sense, it would look terrible for them. PR disaster. Frankly, their cover story is more likely to shoot them in the foot than anything else.” His lip pulls to the side in exaggerated disappointment. “And after all my hard work making you a water-tight case, they go ahead and self-sabotage. I could have half-assed it, apparently, if these clowns are representative of their crew.”

“I refuse to underestimate them,” Diana says calmly. “These two might not have been the cream of the crop, but that doesn’t mean that more danger isn’t coming.”

Gilroy nods. “Obviously I agree, joking aside. Though I was expecting a much more explosive first attempt on their part.”

“We’ll have to keep on guard. Perhaps they have some long-game planned, and we just can’t see it yet.”

“We’ll be ready,” Victor says, and his wife and her lawyer both look to him. He grins, projecting a deliberate air of fecklessness. “I’ll just let the strategists tell me what to do, and we’ll be fine. We’ll be ready.”

Diana stares at the business card on the table, one corner tucked under the tea tray, and thinks about dark, unnumbered rooms, handcuffs, medical examination tables, and guns under pristine suits. “We had better be.”


End file.
